SharpDressed Men
by karabair
Summary: It's hard for a guy who sees the world in shades of red to keep looking like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Set in X1 timeline, after Liberty Island. Scott,Jean,Logan.


Title: Sharp-Dressed Men Characters: Logan, Jean, Scott. Gen + various sexual tensions. Naturally.  
Rating: T  
Description: It's hard for a guy who sees the world in shades of red to keep himself looking like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Takes place in the X1 timeline, post Liberty Island. Just for fun.  
Disclaimers: Characters and situations belong to a bunch of people who aren't me.

Logan sat up on the examination table and stretched his shoulders. While Jean had her back turned, rummaging in a drawer, he let himself draw in a deep breath. Whatever Rogue's power had done to him, it still hurt like a sonofabitch. But he was all right, and the kid was all right, and he was a hero, and all things considered a little basking in glory might be in order.

"So," he said. "The battle's done and we kinda won. I don't suppose you do anything around here to celebrate. Or is fun against the rules?"

"Oh, I'm planning to enjoy this." Jean turned around, holding up a large syringe.

"Hey!" Logan shot to his feet, but felt a dizzying headrush. He sat down more slowly, holding a hand in front of him. "No way. I don't get poked and prodded. I'm done with that."

"Relax. I just need to draw some blood."

"No." Logan raised his fists and turned his knuckles to her, as though he were about to release the blades. "I like my blood where it is." He tried standing again, with measured movements. "What I said before goes. I don't need medical attention."

"Don't be stubborn, Logan." Jean stepped toward him, still wielding the needle. "Last time Rogue touched you, it sent your platelet count way down. This time, your exposure was exponentially greater and you may, in fact, need treatment in order to fully regain your regenerative abilities. Now quit whining –"

"I don't whine," Logan grumbled.

"Quit your manly complaining, and -- well, I usually say, 'Roll up your sleeve,' but in this case. . ." She glanced down at where his muscles strained against the ribbed undershirt.

"You want me to flex?" he smirked.

"I need a vein." Setting the syringe on a tray, Jean reached into the pocket of her labcoat for a thin band of latex. "Let me tie this around you and –"

"Jean, I had no idea –"

She rolled her eyes, then flicked his bicep with one finger. "So I can get a vein, cute guy. So I can stick this big long needle --"

" – into my waiting flesh?" He let out a mock-resigned sigh, but looked away as she tightened the strap. Pretty redhead doctor or not, Logan fucking hated needles.

"Now if you have to close your eyes –"

At which point, another voice traveled into the infirmary. "Honey, can you help me out real quick?"

Logan couldn't exactly resist. "Sure, sweetheart. As soon as the doctor gets done."

This sent Jean into a sputter of laughter, giving Logan a chance to free his arm.

"Logan! You're awake."

"Summers! You're observant." Scott didn't look much like a Cyclops at the moment. He wore a lighter pair of mirrored sunglasses than Logan had seen before. He also had on khaki pants, a patterned tie, and a dress shirt approximately the color of that goddamned singing dinosaur on the kids' show, whose high-pitched keening used to wake Logan up if he fell asleep with the TV on.

Scott clasped his hands behind his back, nodded at Logan, and began a speech that sounded suspiciously rehearsed. "That was a good thing you did on the island. You came through for Rogue. and for all of us. The entire team –"

"Thanks of a grateful nation. I get it." Logan leaned back on his hands, stretching for the full muscle-rippling effect. He could have pointed out that Summers had thrown a temper tantrum when Xavier wanted Logan along on the mission. But Jean's eyes were darting between the two of them, so Logan just smiled and said, "You're welcome." He didn't say it like he meant it, of course, but there was only so much a lady could ask, even if she was a natural redhead.

Jean gave Logan a thin, and possibly grateful, smile, then turned to Summers. "Scott, honey?"

"The Professor wants me to go down to Long Island with Storm. There's a kid picking up radio waves with his ears or – I don't know, I was gonna read the file on the drive. He nodded for her to step aside with him, and lowered his voice. Logan wondered if Summers had forgotten the 'hearing' part of his mutation, or if Jean had never told him. As though they were exchanging state secrets, Scott whispered, "With everything going on, we were thinking civvies, low profile, kind of casual."

Jean stepped back and looked him up and down. "Casual," she repeated. "Scott, you're wearing a silk tie."

"But no jacket. Abercrombie kind of casual. It's a preppy neighborhood."

"Okay –" Her eyes moved up and down Scott's body again, as though she were reading an X-ray. Then she met his eyes, and their gaze stayed locked for a moment. It was a wordless exchange, not something Logan would normally even have noticed. But the past few weeks hadn't exactly been normal.

"All right, then," said Scott. "Works for me. We'll be back late tonight and -- " He frowned. "What?"

"It's just – " Jean reached out to touch the knot of his tie. "Maybe open collar would be the way to go."

"Isn't that a little too J. Crew from last spring?"

Logan couldn't take it. "All right." He stood. "Clearly, you two are having a moment, so I'll just go see the Professor --."

"Nice try, Logan." Jean pointed at the table. "Sit. You're not getting away that easily."

The phrase, 'Make that face too long and it might freeze that way' could have been invented for Summers' smirk. "The Wolverine's not scared of a little needle, is he?"

Logan curled his lip. "At least I can dress myself."

"If that Mad Max meets the Marlboro man thing you've got going counts as dressing yourself –"

"Scott –" Jean cut him off, then turned to Logan and made the interjection into a sentence " – perceives everything in shades of red and black. Because of his mutation."

. . .which would go a long way toward explaining that shirt, Logan thought.

"But I can remember colors," Scott said testily. "So sometimes –"

"Wait, don't tell me. Your girlfriend uses her psychic powers to help you match your clothes."

"When you say it like that," Jean grinned, "it sounds stupid."

"It's not stupid," said Scott.

"It's apparently not very effective, either. Are you gonna tell him, Jeanie, or should I?" Jean did her best to look innocent, so Logan was forced to mention the elephant, or rather the plush dinosaur in the room. "Summers, your shirt is purple."

"I know that."

"All right, let me put this another way. Your shirt is ugly."

He stepped toward Logan. "This shirt is Ralph Lauren. It probably cost more than everything you _own_."

"Scott!" Jean gasped.

"Well, it _does_," said Scott, while Logan talked over him:

"That just makes it stupider that it's uglyi ."

"And if I ever want the latest in dumpster diving fashion tips, I'll know who –"

"Boys!" Jean stepped between them, holding a hand to each side. "This is ridiculous." She inclined her head toward Scott, then back to Logan. "I'm tempted to say you should kiss and make up." The next part rang in Logan's mind, in Jean's voice, although her lips didn't move: _I could make that literal, if I wanted_.

Scott turned to stare at her, then hastily offered Logan his hand; Jean raised her eyebrows, and Logan took it.

"Now you –" Jean pointed at Logan. "Sit down and don't go anywhere until I draw that blood. You --" She placed a hand on each of Scott's shoulders. " – look very nice. And you should drive down to see this kid and be a good representative for the school. Then come home." She pecked him on the cheek, lowered her voice – for the sake of form, Logan guessed, since she definitely knew about his hearing – "I'll wait up."

"All right, then – I'll –" Scott stared at her, and stammered, "I'll come home --" As leaned in to kiss her, Logan heard, "Woman, you have a filthy mind." It was definitely a compliment. Jean's eyes flickered to Logan, who gave her his most innocent face – she knew he had heard, if Scott didn't. Now she looked back at Scott, and leaned in to brush his lips. Scott returned Jean's kiss, then moved closer and covered her lips, for a longer time than ceremony required. Logan would have bet there was tongue involved, and then he wondered why in hell he was wondering.

"All right, then." Scott pulled out the kiss and said, in a conversational tone, "Have fun sticking sharp objects into Logan."

Logan raised his fist and let the middle claw extend in a one-finger salute. Scott just shook his head and waved over his shoulder.

"Oh, that wasn't smart." Jean picked up Logan's hand as the claw retracted. "If your regeneration powers aren't up to speed, you'll probably need a tetanus shot."

Logan groaned. "You're shitting me." He looked down at his hand, and sure enough, the wound wasn't closing the way it should. Jean took his other arm, tightened the band and started probing for a vein. "Look, I'm going to let you probe me. Just answer one thing."

"It's none of your business what I said to Scott."

"That wasn't my question," he lied. "Just, between you and me, can you admit? That's an ugly fucking shirt."

Jean's mouth twitched as she ran the swab over his skin. "It's not my favorite thing he owns. But it is a popular color this season. And believe me, I've had this conversation. I was with him when he bought it."

"Wow." Logan took a second to envision five hours at the mall with Scott Summers. "That must be fun."

"It isn't," she said, matter-of-factly. "But if you're together with someone for a long time – like Scott and I – you develop routines. Let's just say there are compensations. Scott knows I'm not wild about shopping. He always promises to make it up to me."

He leaned back to look at her. "So why. . .?"

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Because he always promises to make it up to me."

"And it's worth it?" Logan demanded.

"Now, Logan." Jean's voice somehow managed to achieve a quality of playful gravity. "That's personal." She raised the needle to his arm, and Logan looked away. "Don't be a wimp. Look at me." The next words sounded in his brain. I And I'll tell you what I said to Scott. /i She hit the plunger, and the needle bit into his flesh. As she met his eyes -- and maybe it was the blood loss, or his imagination, except that he knew it wasn't – Logan had a quick flash of sensation -- flickering candlelight -- pungent scented oil -- silk against skin and -- Summers was right about one thing. The woman had a beautifully filthy mind.

"All done." Jean pulled the syringe from his arm and, just as suddenly, the images were gone. "Now you can go see the Professor, and I'll just get this bloodwork done before Scott comes home." She shook her head. "Now honestly, Logan. Can you believe some people say we don't know how to have fun around here?"

END


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